Concussive force
by AriesTaurus
Summary: Don is caught in an explosion. Drabble series.


_A/N: Writted for the April Rewind Prompt on LJ, at Numb3rs 100. Prompts were: Explosion, Inside, Fierce and Burning. _

_The first two parts are for the Explosion prompt. The next is a prequel and the other two a sequel. _

_Each section is 300 words long._

_Feedback is author food..._

* * *

**Concussive force**

He lifted his head up and blinked. Billowing clouds of dust swirled everywhere, obscuring the entire landscape. The place was eerily quiet and completely foreign to him. He pushed himself to his knees, scanning his surroundings. All he could see through the dust was pale yellow stone, broken and haphazardly displayed, covered by a layer of loose pebbles and more dust.

He pushed to his feet and took a step, pausing when the landscape around him shifted. It swam back in place after a few seconds, settling into an unknown desert. He took a step straight ahead, his leg almost folding under him. He waited a few seconds for the word to right itself again and tried another step. He felt something wet slide on his neck and pool in the hollow of his collarbone. He put his fingers to it and looked at them. It was red. He let his hand drop and kept on walking.

The dust became thinner. There were shapes, past the dust. He could see shapes and colors in the distance. He had to get to the shapes. He stopped, tilting his head, puzzled. He realised this was the first thought he'd had in a while. It occurred to him that it should bother him.

The shapes were moving. Coming towards him. Somehow, he knew that was good.

Two shapes sharpened into view. Men. One black, one white.

Their lips were moving. He stared, uncomprehending.

The white man put a hand on his arm. He looked up at his face. It blurred. He blinked and coughed, something wet on his lips.

Something Charlie had said came to him, unbidden

Concussive force.

There was a jolt and he was looking at a belt. He blinked again and felt gravel on his face. He closed his eyes.

* * *

**Fallout**

"Don!" David screamed, running towards the building, fear and panic clutching at his chest. Don hadn't cleared the perimeter in time. He didn't dare think it, but a little piece of him just iknew/i that if Don hadn't made it to them before the blast, then, he was dead. The roar of the settling debris pile was muffled by the thick clouds of dust, smaller debris peppering everything, adding to the cacophony of car alarms and sirens.

McCallum had said there was enough C-4 to bring the whole building down. Deep down, David knew Don had made the right call and pulled out his teams but... where was *he*?

They stood helpless, at the edge of the yellow tape, waiting for the dust to clear. Maybe he'd somehow made it out. There should have been enough time.

Where was he, then?

The wind picked up, swiping the dust clouds clear.

"I see him!" Colby shouted.

David followed at a dead run, images from Tel-Aviv floating through his head. Don was stumbling towards them, blood painting sharp, contrasting streaks on his dust-covered face. He had the same lost look in his eyes as that family; lost and uncomprehending.

"Don! You all right?"

"Get a medic!" David screamed.

Don's glazed eyes gave no signs of recognition as he stared at them. Colby put a hand on his arm and tried again.

"Don?"

"Crap!" He caught the arm nearest him when Don sagged to his knees.

They caught him as he fell forward, laying him on the gravel.

"Holy shit."

David shut his eyes and cursed.

Don's back was a shredded mess of blood, fabric and shrapnel, from neck to waist. Automatically, David's fingers sought the carotid, dreading what he'd find. He took a breath and nodded to Colby.

He was alive.

* * *

**Flashpoint**

No matter how he tried, he couldn't find a way in. He'd shaken his head at David, ordering the teams to pull back. McCallum just kept shutting him out.

He had no wish to crawl inside the maniac's head but he had no choice. He had to at least find enough time to make sure they had time to evacuate the area. The concussive force of the blast would send a pressure wave into the neighbouring school and daycare center and there was no telling what damage it would cause on young lungs. In the mean time, he was content to listen to the maniac rant and rave, trying to keep himself as still as possible as the man gesticulated wildly, the dead man's switch twitching in his hand.

"Don, we're clear. Perimeter's secure," David said in his ear.

He took a step back from McCallum.

"It's over McCallum. Give it up. Ain't nobody that's gonna die here today but you, of you don't end this right now!" he yelled.

McCallum paused, turned and faced him, a feral smile on his lips. "If I die today in my raging fire, you will die with me. You represent the raging fires of government, of Hades itself. And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury."

Horror and fear flooded his blood as McCallum raised his arm high over his head. He didn't hesitate a millisecond. He ran.

"Clear the perimeter!" he yelled into his comm.

Outside. He needed to get outside *now*. If he was still inside when that maniac dropped the switch, he was as good as dead. He could see the outside. Ten more feet…

Internal injuries caused by a supersonic blast wave ---

_BOOM_

_

* * *

  
_

**Shockwave**

Minutes turned into hours and daylight morphed into darkness and still they waited. Every minute past was a minute gained or perhaps a minute lost. He didn't know anymore.

When the news had come, when David had called saying his son was being airlifted to Mercy after being caught in a blast, he'd stopped living. He'd made his way here, had listened to the doctor's grim prediction and had once again shared his grief and fear with Robin.

The list of injuries was long and terrifying. Blast lung. Perforated ileum. Ruptured spleen. Traumatic brain injury. Flash burns. Shrapnel wounds too numerous to count. Broken clavicle. Ruptured tympanic membranes.

Don was not expected to survive.

Still, the night turned to dawn before a gowned nurse, mask still hanging around her neck, walked into the lounge.

"Mr Eppes?"

He rose to his feet, his heart beating jut that much faster at her thin smile. "Yes?"

Robin rose with him, grasping his hand.

"Doctor Ikara will be here in a minute to fill you in, but your son made it though surgery. He's in recovery now."

Alan sagged into the chair behind him, tears filling his eyes. His boy was alive. He was still hanging on.

He'd decided not to call Charlie, not until after the surgery. He couldn't make it back within 24 hours and if Don died, time wouldn't really matter.

The surgeon walked in, exhaustion clear on his face. By Alan's account, the surgery had lasted 17 hours.

"Mr Eppes, your son is a hell of a fighter. He isn't out of the woods by any means but he made it this far. We've repaired his injuries. Time will do the rest. I have to say… Will to live like that, it's something fierce."

Alan smiled, nodding. "That's my son."

* * *

Blast Radius

Charlie sat in the hard chair, eyes locked on the unrecognizable form on the bed, covered by bandages, wires and tubes.

The broken shell that used to be his brother still lived. After two weeks in ICU, the medical coma had been deemed no longer necessary, the sedation decreased and stopped altogether. All that was left now was to wait and hope.

The neurologist had sounded hopeful, unconcerned even. Minimal brain swelling and as normal an EEG as could be expected was supposed to be good news.

Charlie would only believe it when he looked into his brother's eyes themselves, when he was able to see for himself that the spark of intelligence still burned in them, that the man he knew was still in there.

It was his turn to keep vigil, hoping and praying that tonight he'd wake. His brother had defied all odds. He'd survived the blast and his physical injuries. None of it mattered if the man himself had died that day.

Anger smoldered in Charlie's gut. An unfathomable rage burned there, so black and all-consuming it terrified him. Knowing the bastard who was responsible was dead did nothing to ease the fury.

Collin McCallum had died in that building, by his own hand, obliterated completely, vaporized into dust, never to be recovered again.

To Charlie, it wasn't enough. He desperately wanted to hurt the man himself, to make him pay for every moment of his brother's pain. He wanted McCallum's soul to burn in Hell for all of eternity.

"Charlie?"

The whisper was so thin and weak he was sure he'd imagined it, until he gazed to the head of the bed and met his brother's half-lidded, conscious, intelligent eyes.

The anger evaporated, turned to cinders, extinguished.

He grabbed Don's hand and smiled. "Hey bro."

FIN


End file.
